The Toerag, the Flower, and the Slimeball
by Marauders2003
Summary: They were friends, enemies, lovers. Nevertheless, their lives are inexplicably connected to each other, and there's really no denying it. Moments in the lives of one James Potter, one Lily Evans, and one Severus Snape.


**A/N:** **The credit of the Harry Potter plot and characters belongs solely to J.K. Rowling. I own nothing of it but my own words.**

 **I'm so sorry for the long wait. I started this story but couldn't seem to find the right words. And I know I keep saying I'm going to write a multi-chaptered story that may or may not be about Harry Potter, but honestly I haven't the time nor the energy for such a thing at the moment. I promise it's coming, though.**

* * *

When James Potter was born, well, that is rather a story all its own. For though the labor preceding his birth was also long and hard, for Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, it was well worth the effort. Their son was a miracle, a gift given to a couple much older than any other, a couple that might have been considered grandparents as opposed to new parents, when one accounted for their age, and they intended to give him the best and easiest life they could (which, as it turns out, due to their substantial wealth, was quite an easy life indeed). They decided on the name James, classic and simple and sophisticated all at once, and they were happy.

When Lily Evans was born, her one and a half year old sister was wailing louder than she was. Rose Evans held her newborn daughter tight against her chest, kissing her forehead gently and whispering sweet nothings in her tiny little ears. Thomas Evans nervously attempted to calm the bawling toddler, who had dropped her juice moments before the birth, and he was jumpy and desperate and yet unable to wipe the smile off his face. They christened her Lily, so that both daughters and mother were named after brilliant flowers. His daughter's eyes were bright, shining, emerald green, identical to his own, but neither Thomas nor Rose had got any clue where the full head of fiery red hair had come from. Nevertheless, they're blessed and they're laughing, and _dear god_ , they couldn't wait for their daughters to stop crying.

When Severus Snape was born, it was quite without love. He was born after hours of vicious turmoil on the part of Eileen Snape, his mother, sweaty and panting and more yellow than usual (if such a color is even possible) and his father, Tobias, regarded him with little more than disgust. Neither held the baby close or rejoiced in its miraculous arrival. Neither did anything to quiet the baby's cries or sooth it or help it at all, really. Neither did anything but sneer at the wrinkly, hideous excuse for a creature, who, somehow, already had a full head of black, greasy hair. And so it was only fitting that they named the child Severus.

* * *

 _"James!"_ reprimanded Mrs. Potter, weary and frustrated and trying oh-so-desperately trying to be stern, even though a hint of a smile tugged at her lips. For her son had taken their poor cat and forced it onto his broom with him and proceeded to speed around the spacious backyard, tossing said cat back and forth with himself and calling out shots as though he were both the Chaser and the commentator.

"And the daring, handsome James Potter passes the Quaffle from teammate to teammate, skillfully dodging every obstacle and opponent. He approaches the goals . . . the suspense is unbearable, until finally, he shoots, he SCORES!"

As it turns out, the "scoring" was launching the terrified, traumatized cat into a nearby rubbish bin. The cat emerged moments later, filthy and shaken and dizzy, just as Mrs. Potter had come out with the trash (the cat fled as soon as it regained itself). And all in all, that really is the sort of thing one ought to be punished for, but when Mrs. Potter looked at James, a thrilled look in his eyes, his hair windswept (he ruffles it a bit more, even), and his entire body pleading back at her, she couldn't do it.

"Run along," she told him. "I'll find the cat. Just — don't do this again, James."

James grinned. "Wouldn't think of it, Mum."

(He did it again the next week.)

Over in Cokeworth, Lily and Petunia (whom had quite warmed up to each other) were, rather contentedly, playing at a park. Well, at least, Lily was content.

"Can we please go home, Lily?" beged Petunia for the fifth time that day. "We can play house."

"Why would you want to play house when you can see the whole world up here?" countered Lily serenely, reaching higher and higher heights from the swing.

Petunia scoffed. "You _can't_ see the whole world from that silly little swing. Come on, I'll even let you be the child."

"Only because you want to be the mum," replied Lily airily, somehow simultaneously giving the impression of being present and yet in a world all her own, which, it seemed, she was in quite a bit of the time.

"Would you at least come down, Lily?" asked Petunia impatiently.

"Fine," she sighed. She closed her eyes, letting the swing move her, forward and back, forward and back. Then she let go.

Except —

Except she jumped a moment, a split second too late. And then she's falling. Fast. And there's a tree, right in her path. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. And then, just as fast as she was falling, she wasn't. At least, not as fast.

It was almost as though time itself had slowed down. Lily took advantage, her mind racing, her head pounding, and every fibre of her being demanding _why, how_ this could possibly be happening, and grabbed onto a branch, holding just tight enough to stop herself from colliding with the rest of it.

Then the branch _bent._ It just bent, as though it was about to break, and it gently lowered Lily to the ground.

Lily was stunned. So was Petunia. They stood in silence, quieter than anyone could reasonably expect two young girls to be, trying to process everything that had just happened . Then —

"Lily?" Someone laid a hand on her arm.

She jumped.

It was Petunia, her eyes wide and her lips quivering.

"I-I'm fine, Tuney," stammered Lily, almost believably. "Let's go home. We can play house, and I'll even be the daughter."

"But —"

"Tuney, it's fine," insisted Lily. "Let's just go home."

And so they did, neither especially in the mood to play. Petunia tried to forget the whole thing had ever happened. Lily resolved to try it again the next day, in secret, just to see that she hadn't imagined it. (She hadn't.)

But what neither of them know is that they weren't alone at the park that day. Hidden behind a set of trees quite close by to where Lily had landed was a boy. A boy with unkempt, oily black hair and oversized, mismatched clothing. A boy who saw everything.

Now, as you may have guessed, the story of Severus Snape's childhood was vastly different from that of the last two. In fact, even his own version of that day was nothing like that of the last two. For Severus's childhood had not been filled with laughter or happiness or love, as had James's and Lily's. It had been filled with quarreling and anger and — worst of all — indifference. The first eight years of his life had been spent in withering misery.

That particular morning, Severus too discovered his own magic. He had been doing the morning's dishes when, all of a sudden, his hand _slipped._ The plate that was in his hand — the priceless, elegant china plate that his mum been so intolerably adamant about using, the one last family heirloom from his mum's side of the family (the honorable side of the family, especially when compared to that of his filthy Muggle father's) — clattered to the floor with a resounding, heart-stopping _crash_ and shattered.

"No," breathed Severus because he knew what would happen if his parents find out, his mum's screeches and his father's drunken blows. "No, no, no." Grabbing the closest broom, he dropped to the floor, surveying the damage, and desperately tried to sweep it up. Then —

Then the bits and pieces began to lift into the air, and they fixed themselves with surprising accuracy. Severus's jaw dropped. By some miracle, the plate was back in his hand, clean and uncracked, as though nothing had gone wrong at all.

If he had had time, Severus probably would have marveled over the fact that he had just done his first bit of magic. If he had had time, he probably would have rejoiced that he was not worthless and untalented like his father, but that he was special like his mother. If he had had time, he probably would have spent hours trying to recreate that moment, to spark some more magic, to push himself. If he had had time.

But at that moment, Tobias Snape entered the room, glaring at Severus.

"What was that noise, boy?" he demanded, looking around suspiciously.

Severus decided very quickly between lying and telling the truth. "Nothing," he replied, as convincingly as he could. "The — uh — the broom, it just f-fell, and I couldn't c-catch it in time."

Tobias did not believe it in the slightest. He chuckled, pretending to be amused. "That's a nice story. What — _really —_ happened?"

His voice was getting angry now, rising and contorting. Severus gulped.

"I'm telling the truth, Dad," he said, his own voice cracking, betraying him. "Honest."

This did nothing to quell his fury.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU?" roared Tobias. "YOU'RE TO BE SILENT! I WORK TWO JOBS TO PROVIDE FOR THIS DAMN FAMILY, AND WHAT DO I GET? AN UNGRATEFUL WIFE AND A STUPID, NOISY SON!"

"What's going on?" Mum shuffled in, looking particularly miffed.

Tobias repeated the rant. Mum scoffed.

"Please, Tobias. I know what you were doing last night. You were drinking _away_ our money!"

" _My_ money," spat Tobias stubbornly.

"Last I checked," said Mum coolly, "it was _my_ inheritance that's been paying for it."

And in the harsh tumult of bickering that follows, Severus managed to escape.

He sought solace in the place he so often did, the nearby, usually deserted park. He's spent hours on the swings, lying in the grass, trying to forget that home was as . . . well, as it is. It was his refuge.

But someone was already there. _Two_ someone's, actually.

There were two girls. One, the younger, with brilliant red hair and mesmerizing green eyes, was on the swings, while the other, blonde and unremarkable in nearly every aspect, was already on the ground, seemingly ready to leave.

"Can we please go home, Lily?" the older pleaded to the younger. "We can play house."

"Why would you want to play house when you can see the whole world up here?" retorted Lily breathlessly.

Severus didn't mean to hide, or perhaps he did. All he knew was that Lily was beautiful and breathtaking and just the right sort of person, and he could possibly, potentially, one day, love her. Except that she was likely a Muggle. And he knew first-hand how _that_ works out. _I won't do that_ , he thought determinedly, _I will_ never _be like him._ And so he resolved to leave, to forget the beautiful girl he's seen who didn't care about the trivialities of youth that he had never had. He began to turn away, to leave behind the sliver of hope that had arisen at the sight of her. Except —

Except when she jumped off the swing, it had looked as though she would collide painfully with a tree nearby him, and Severus had looked away, unable to watch.

But she didn't.

Instead she drifted slowly toward the tree, took hold of a branch, and was ever-so-gently lowered to the ground. And Severus knew this could only mean one thing.

She was magic.

Therefore, she was perfect. Already Severus considered her a friend, for she was like him, even if she didn't know who he was. She would. Someday. The half-heartedly buried hope swelled up again, and stronger.

And long after the girls left, long after Severus had emerged from his hiding spot, he found himself unable to stop thinking about her.

And how nice it would be to have a friend.

* * *

When James received his Hogwarts letter, it is no more than a mere formality. The boy had been causing magic-induced mayhem for years, and it would have been a gross oversight had he not been accepted. Still, the way James's face lit up with pure and complete glee, one would have thought a dozen Christmases had come early.

So Euphemia baked him all his favorite dishes in celebration, which he wolfed down like some uncivilized animal, and Euphemia was halfway to pursing her lips when she stopped, thought _This is his day_ , and allowed it. The smirk he gave her lets her know her internal struggle had not gone unnoticed. And, the way his eyes gleam, Euphemia almost worried just how much he'd try to get away with now.

Fleamont only chuckled, ruffled James's untamable hair (and Euphemia _had_ tried to tame it), and stood up.

"What're you doin'?" asked James.

"Well, we can't send you off to Hogwarts without a wand, can we?" responded Fleamont.

James beamed, dashed off madly to get dressed, and was back downstairs and impatiently holding a handful of Floo powder before Fleamont could take another step.

"Did you brush your teeth?" inquired Euphemia suspiciously.

"Mmhm," said James, carefully not opening his mouth.

Fleamont laughed and shrugged. James tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace, stepped in, and confidently — the boy had never had trouble with confidence — maybe just a little too loudly, yelled, "Diagon Alley!"

Fleamont and Euphemia shared an amused glance before he followed him through.

When Lily received _her_ Hogwarts letter, it was much less expected - by everyone but Lily, that is. Lily, however, knew exactly when she would get the letter, how she would get it, and what it would contain. Severus had tried not to leave out a single detail. So when, on the morning of her birthday, a sharp three taps sounded from the door, and Thomas turned to Rose and asked, "Are we expecting anyone?", Lily said, "Yes," and stood to answer the door without a second thought.

Standing on the front stoop was a tall, stern-looking woman in an emerald green dress, who thoughtfully took in Lily as though seeing into every bit of her, mind and body.

"Right," she said briskly, looking past Lily into the rest of the house and the people in it, "Well, I really haven't got much time, so let's get on with it, shall we?"

"Get on with what?" asked Petunia snidely, wrinkling her nose. It seemed she had already made her own judgment of the woman.

"Petunia!" reprimanded Rose.

At the same time, Thomas asked, "Who are you?"

At this, the woman smiled faintly. "Ah," she began, "you Muggles" — Petunia flinched at the word — "really are quite the curious type, aren't you? I'm Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I'd be more than happy to explain to you what I'm doing here if you would be so kind as to let me in. Your neighbors are beginning to get curious too, and I have a Statute of Secrecy to uphold."

Wordlessly, Rose and Thomas nodded and gestured her in, and McGonagall swept into the house, the door behind her shutting on its own, and she began to tell them about magic.

Two hours later, Lily was skipping down Diagonal Alley with McGonagall and a throng of other Muggle-borns, one of whom was named Mary MacDonald and whom seemed quite nice, and all of whom were peppering an already exasperated McGonagall with an endless stream of questions.

Severus received his Hogwarts letter with infinitely less fanfare than the other two, though he did not mind. Tobias was passed out, drunk, on their stained couch, and his mother was the one to accept the letter from the owl. Eileen passed it to him with as blank a face as ever, though Severus could almost, _almost_ , convince himself there was a flicker of pride behind her eyes.

Together, they hurried to Diagon Alley to buy as much of his supplies as they could afford — secondhand, of course — and, when they got back, Severus stuffed everything under his bed or in his closet, and they just barely avoided his father finding out. Evading his wrath, however, well, they really weren't _that_ lucky.

Tobias woke up to find his family (if they could even be called that) out of breath and looking scared, but if he noticed it, he didn't say anything — well, anything except to demand dinner because his family was too damn lazy for their own good. And that got him started on another rant entirely.

Severus collapsed onto his bed with a sigh and closed his eyes and imagined, just imagines what Hogwarts would be like. Lily would be there, but, more importantly, Tobias would not, and he would finally, _finally_ , be able to escape.

* * *

The morning of September 1, James was already awake and dressed and shaking his parents awake because, _Merlin's beard_ , they slept like the dead. Finally, his father stirred, checked his watch and, in a stern (which he rarely used), tired voice, said, "James, have you any idea what time it is?"

James clambered over his father to check his wrist and winces — 4:37 am.

"Oops?" he responded meekly.

Fleamont rolled over and went back to sleep.

Eventually, though, they did make it to King's Cross, and James, somewhat reluctantly, ran — trolley with trunk and owl in tow — through the barrier, was surprised he was still standing, and had to pick his jaw up off the floor when he saw what was on the other side.

"Now, James," started Euphemia, seeming determined to make sure he listened to her this time, "don't —"

"Mmhm, got it, Mum," interrupted James, flashing his most charming smile so she wouldn't get irritated with him. "Hm, looks like the train's about to leave, so I'd better go! Bye!"

"The train's not leaving for another twenty minutes yet," she called after him, but lets him be. "Bye, James," she said quietly, and pretended she wasn't crying.

Once on the train, he managed to find a compartment near the back with another boy who looks about his age.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked him.

The boy, who had wavy black hair, looked at him and grinned.

"Not at all," he answered.

The boy helped James with his trunk, and they both settled into seats across from each other near the window.

"I'm James."

The boy's eyes widened with shock. "No way!" he said. " _I'm_ James!"

"Really?" asked James, taken aback.

The boy laughed. "No, I'm just kidding."

"Oh," he laughed too. "So what is your name, or should I just stick to calling you James?"

He shrugged. "You can. But my name's Sirius." For effect, Sirius wiggled his eyebrows as he says it, and James laughed again.

"So, you like Quidditch?" he asked.

Sirius's eyes widened. He nodded emphatically. "Di-Did you _see_ that last Cannons game?" Actually, he said it so fast and so excitedly it came out more like, "Di-Didyou _see_ thatlastCannonsgame?"

James groaned. "You're a _Cannons_ fan?" he whined. "Bad taste, mate."

Sirius promptly launched into an empowered speech about how the Cannons are pure, underrated genius, just you wait and see, and they're just having a bit of bad luck at the moment, the poor blokes.

Later, after some Snivellus weirdo and his girlfriend had left, a sandy-haired kid came by, with a battered trunk and a half-finished book and some scars he seemed he was desperately trying to hide.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked.

"Come on in," said Sirius.

Relieved, the boy set down his book (marking the page, of course, because what kind of scoundrel do you think he is?), hoisted up his trunk (with help from Sirius and James), and sat down beside them.

"My name's Remus," he said politely.

"James," he introduced himself with a wave.

"And James," said Sirius.

"You're kidding," said Remus, looking bewildered.

Sirius grinned. "I am. But he believed it," he nodded toward James with a smirk.

Remus laughed.

"Oh my," gasped Rose, looking pleasantly surprised, which was something she had looked quite a bit these past few months. "Thomas, look at this!"

Her husband wandered over to join her, drinking in the scenery himself.

Close by, Petunia looked determinedly disinterested, and Lily was pleading with her.

"Please, Tuney, don't be upset!"

"Why would I be upset?" retorted Petunia coldly. "You're only leaving."

"I'm sorry, Tuney, I'm sorry!" Lily reached out to take Petunia's arm, but Petunia stubbornly tried to yank it back. "Listen. Maybe once I'm there — no, listen, Tuney! Maybe once I'm there, I'll be able to go to Dumbledore and persuade him to change his mind!"

"I don't — want — to — go!" lied Petunia, snatching her hand away. "You think I want to go to some stupid castle and learn to be a — a —" She floundered for the right word, tears threatening her eyes, but there is _no way_ she'd let Lily see that it'd got to her. "— you think I want to be a — a freak!"

Lily's own tears stung her eyes, but she didn't try to hide them. She knew how desperately Petunia had wanted to go with her, to learn magic with her, to _stay_ with her, but when she hadn't been so lucky, she'd withdrawn herself altogether from her sister. Lily sniffed; it certainly wasn't _her_ fault that Petunia couldn't go to Hogwarts. It wasn't _her_ fault that Petunia didn't have magic, and it wasn't like she _wanted_ to leave her sister behind, but couldn't Tuney _see_ that she was trying?

 _No_ , said a bitter voice inside her head. _She'll never see. She's too jealous._

Lily pushed the voice out of her mind and tried again. "I'm not a freak, Tuney, and that's a horrible thing to say."

But Petunia was too far gone. She summoned every bit of cruelty and menace she had inside her and bit out, "That's where you're going. A school for freaks. You and that Snape boy . . . weirdos, that's what you two are. It's good you're being separated from normal people. It's for our safety."

Lily bit her lip, swiped angrily at her face, and let go of every ounce of self-control she'd enforced in the hopes of maintaining her relationship with her sister.

"You didn't think it was such a freak's school when you wrote to the headmaster and begged him to take you."

She regretted it as soon as it left her mouth, but she couldn't take it back, and when Petunia insulted Severus, she wasn't so sure she wanted to.

After giving a long and rather predictable lecture about the inconvenience of having to take Severus all the way to King's Cross and Platform 9 3/4, Eileen vanished with a loud pop, leaving Severus all alone in his secondhand robes, though he'd taken careful measures to ensure that none of his stuff _looked_ secondhand. He was a Slytherin, after all. (Well, Slytherin-hopeful. Not that Slytherins hoped, he reminded himself. Slytherins _made_ things happen. They connived and plannned and manipulated everything into place, and they got exactly what they wanted. Which was exactly what Severus wanted.) Slytherins cared about appearances. They could determine _everything_ a person thought about you from before you spoke a word. And maybe, if he was Sorted into Slytherin, and he _made_ something of himself, _maybe_ his mum might be proud of him. Maybe she'd actually show it.

Lily, as had become predictable following conversations — or, rather, arguments — with her prat of a sister Petunia, was in tears. Severus, as had become his role in this rather emotional friendship, tried to calm her. As usual, he found he wasn't that great at it.

Thinking that maybe 'out of sight' _did_ mean 'out of mind,' he guided her to a relatively empty compartment — all that was in there were two gangly boys who seemed caught up in a world all their own. But Lily, as he so loved about her, was unshakeable in her steadfast devotion to her sister, happy as ift seemed Petunia was to break said devotion.

"I don't want to talk to you," she sniffled, and Severus tried his best not to be hurt by it.

"Why not?"

"Tuney h-hates me. Because we saw that letter from Dumbledore."

"So what?" Severus flung back, hurt anyways that she cared more about her cow of a sister than she did him.

Lily gave him a look that sent him recoiling. "So she's my sister," she said venomously.

"She's only a —" The words slipped out before Severus could stop himself, but he changed tactics quickly, figuring insulting Petunia, much as she deserved it, wouldn't do well to de-escalate the situation. Lily, luckily, didn't seem to hear his slip-up. "But we're going!" he said enthusiastically. "This is it! We're off to Hogwarts!"

Lily seemed cheered by this fact, at least. Severus powered forward.

"You'd better be in Slytherin," he informed her, matter-of-factly.

Before Lily could say anything, however, one of the two boys, who, Severus realized, had been much less in their own world than he'd assumed, perked up.

"Slytherin?!" he scoffed, disbelieving.

Lily jumped, apparently not having noticed the nuisances in their shared compartment.

"Who wants to be in Slytherin?" the nuisance continued with utter disdain at the word, "I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" He nudged the boy across from him.

 _That_ boy, it seemed, was much less indignant of Slytherin. "My whole family have been in Slytherin," replied the boy miserably, as though he wished to be in any other House. Severus hadn't believed such imbeciles would exist in the Wizarding world. Surely that breed of people was limited to Muggles, was it not?

"Blimey!" exclaimed the first boy, seeming genuinely surprised. "And I thought you seemed all right!"

The second boy grinned, seeming as mad and maniacal as the first. Severus was sorely regretting his choice of company.

"Maybe I'll break the tradition," mused the second boy. "Where are you heading, if you've got the choice?"

The boy grinned, somehow looking even more insane than ever. "Gryffindor," he proclaimed, and Severus felt his own lip curl smugly, "where dwell the brave of heart! Like my dad."

Severus, not at all sorry, snorted. He simply couldn't handle it anymore. How obvious it had been from the start that this idiot was an ignorant Gryffindor. How fitting.

The boy, it seemed, had heard that. "Got a problem with that?" he asked, all bravado slipping away as he turned a rather withering gaze on Severus.

"No," replied Severus noncommitally, shrugging. Honestly, Gryffindors and their pride. "If you'd rather be brawny than brainy —"

The traitor-Slytherin spoke up, a sneer gracing his lips all too easily. "Where're you hoping to go, seeing as you've got neither?"

The boy found that rather funny, simply howling with cruel and immature laughter that Severus knew far too well.

Lily, who had composed herself in the meantime, gently took his hand. "Come on, Severus," she said, shooting a look of thin-lipped disapproval at the nimrods, who, unsurprisingly, looked quite pleased with themselves. Severus felt himself warm all over at her reaction.

The boys, seemingly unaffected, mocked Lily's voice, and the first boy reached out his leg to trip Severus as they walked past.

"See ya, Snivellus!" he called after them.

Lily was shaking with anger. "Those utter gits!" she muttered, and Severus smiled.

* * *

Much happened during the first six years of their Hogwarts experience. Friends made, alliances forged, enemies established. But, like a tidal wave, going back and forth for all eternity, some things simply aren't meant to last forever. So friends drift apart, alliances become unnecessary, enemies reconcile. And, if Hogwarts did anything to these three, these three that were so different, these three that were so set apart from, quite frankly, everyone else, it only served to make them more of whom they already were, to paint them more vividly, to bring out not only their best, but also their worst. Or, in James Potter's case, everything in between.

James Potter was unbelievably, unflinchingly, unexplainably steadfast. He was the sort that was quite set in his ways, and once he committed to something, he didn't budge from it. To him, life was simple. Friends were friends, fun was fun, and Snivellus was, well, he was Snivellus. (But more on that later.)

For James to put his faith and trust in you was a powerful thing. As some dear, dear friend of his who had been on the receiving end of said faith and said trust once said, "James would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends." And once James decided he rather liked you, there was really nothing you could do about it to make him change his mind.

So when mild, sandy-haired Remus turned out to be a werewolf, James vowed never to abandon him, and he stalked down to the library then and there to learn everything he could about werewolves. (Later, it would be James to suggest the Animagi idea, and he would bloody well go through with it.)

And when James started to notice the way the light glinted off that girl Evans' brilliant red hair, or the way her limpid green eyes lit up when she opened a book, or the way her smile was just the tiniest, _tiniest_ bit crooked, or how gently she'd speak when helping a shy little first year, or how the weekly spats she and James had were the kind of intense nothing else was and it was really quite endearing, when he stopped to think about it, and how nice altogether she had grown up to be, well, that poor girl really had no chance of shaking him.

So he devised a whole number of grand gestures to prove his undying love to her, each more inventive than the last, and all of which she'd simply turn up her nose to and promptly ignore. And he tried to point out the fire they had whenever they bantered, but she'd only huff and recommend he check into St. Mungo's for a bit. And he'd tried the blunt approach too.

"Go out with me, Evans?"

"Never in a million years."

"So in a million years...?"

"We'll both be too dead to care."

"So what I'm hearing is you wouldn't say no..."

"Oh, bugger off, Potter."

Evans seemed to quite enjoy that particular phrase, to the point that James wondered whether "Bugger Off Potter" might actually be his name.

Another thing about James is that he had a bit of a saving-people thing. It wasn't necessarily that he went _looking_ for danger (which he did, but what's the fun in being safe?), but danger seemed to have a way of finding him.

So when, in first year, he stumbled upon jumpy little Peter cowering in a corner while Lucius Malfoy laughed snidely alongside Avery, Mulciber, and Snivellus, James saw no better solution than to hex them all within an inch of their lives (and later to subject all of Slytherin to a rather nasty prank).

And to the shaking, whimpering, terrified boy, he extended a hand and a membership into what would become a group of the most famous — and infamous — students Hogwarts had ever seen. (McGonagall once accused the four of shameless marauding, and James, ostentatious as he was, thought that was a rather fitting name indeed.)

And the four Marauders became something great. Idolized by their fellow students, abhorred by the Slytherins, this band of merry men managed truly fantastical feats of mischief that simultaneously exasperated and impressed their teachers. And along the way, if James saved a few of his peers from the really truly wretched souls, well, that was just who he was. And if the Slytherins ended up the targets of some of their nastier pranks, surely they deserved each and every one. (Okay, well, maybe a _few_ were uncalled for, but really, those gits had to learn how to laugh at themselves.)

That was another thing about James. He only gave as good as he got. If he 'hexed random students without due cause,' it wasn't without due cause. Those random students had been taunting or hexing other students, and they had it coming, in James' opinion. He was nothing if not fair.

So when Bertram Aubrey mocked and ridiculed a third year simply for being Muggleborn, you can bet a sack of Galleons that all it took was one look shared by James and Sirius, and the tosser was walking away with a head the size of his ego. And they were more than willing to serve a double detention for it, because really, in the grand scheme of things, they probably quite deserved it.

Now Snivellus was something of a special case. From the moment the two had met, James had had a _feeling_ about him. The greasy hair, the pallid face, the trademark sneer. Something about him just seized hold of all James's moral inhibitions and left every ruthless urge free to take charge.

Later, he would realize it was the way he treated Evans; despite the longing look in Snivellus's eyes, he'd mentally belittle everything about her, from her sister to the way she cared about everyone. She was kind (mostly) and he was not (mostly), and she somehow saw the good in everyone, and he refused to see anything but the bad, and she was too forgiving, and he held too fast to his grudges, and he didn't appreciate her for all that she was, not truly. And James saw it. And he saw the way Snape's eyes glittered when they learned about the Dark Arts, and somehow he already knew very nearly everything about them, and he was just a little too curious to learn about the rest. But mostly it was the Evans thing, yeah.

So sometimes he bullied Snape first and sometimes Snape went after him first, but neither was innocent in this respect, because both always retaliated, _always_.

(Even later, James would regret his actions, but Snape wouldn't — he'd later inflict them upon another generation of Potter — because James, arrogant and rude and idiotic and impulsive as he was in his youth, grew up, and he changed, and Snape never did.)

But yet another quality of James's is that he never went too far. He never subjected anyone to anything permanent, he never aimed to truly hurt someone, he never had malicious intent at all, really, and he never pushed too much. Snape did. He pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed, and he was so _obsessed_ with finding something to pin on them that he almost spelled out his own demise.

Sirius, fed up and even less patient than the very _im_ patient James, in a moment of true aggravation, blurted out their group's greatest secret: how to get past the Whomping Willow, and therefore, what it shielded.

And James Potter, Snivellus's great enemy, ever steadfast, ever the hero, ever fair, ever good-intentioned, without a _moment's_ hesitation — and think about this here — without hesitating, ignoring the possible consequences, without thinking that he deserved it, without acknowledging what it would mean if he did save Snape and Snape lived to tell the tale, barreled down after him and bloody saved Snivellus's life.

Now let me ask you something. Would Snape have done the same?

If Hogwarts made everyone more of what they already were, then Lily Evans became rather a wonderful person indeed.

Most people would have described Lily as "so bloody kind it makes you feel better and worse at the same bloody time because you can't _not_ be uplifted and inspired, but she's such a good person she makes you feel like a real mingy, manky old codger."

Lily was the type of person to help timid first years without their even asking for it. She was the type of person that teachers swooned over and parents hissed, "Why can't you be more like Lily Evans?"

She was just lovely, really, the perfect blend of funny, nice, gentle, smart, and creative. She was the type of person that everyone sort of gravitated to, without even realizing it.

She was the type of person who'd stay up till midnight tutoring a stranger, even if she should have been studying herself. She was the type of person who showed up to each and every Quidditch game, despite the fact that she loathed the sport (well, no, she didn't, but she didn't exactly enjoy watching Potter and Black host their little two-man show, each taking a deep, dramatic bow after a particularly impressive move) simply because it was important to Potter, which meant it was important to Remus, who was actually a rather nice bloke, even if he had poor taste in friends.

Actually, she probably would have done practically anything to help practically anyone, barring Potter. Somehow, Potter alone, it seemed, was subjected to the less-than-noble aspects of her personality.

And another thing about Lily, the thing that drew Severus (and later Potter) to her like a moth to a flame, was her fire. She was passionate; there was really no denying it.

Several times over the course of those first six years, Gryffindors wandered down into the common room before breakfast, only to find the pasteboard absolutely plastered with petitions of all the injustices she'd found in Wizarding society, from gross mistreatment of House-Elves to foundational division between the Houses, and they chuckled to themselves, murmured, "Only Lily Evans," signed a few, and moved on. (Popular as her petitions became — though that may in part be due to Lily's persuasive arguments and the piercing, terrifyingly compelling look in her eyes — very rarely was anything actually done about them because, even though she'd take each and every one up to Dumbledore himself, well, suffice it to say, that, in times like these, he had bigger problems.)

And Lily Evans, sweet as she was, sweet as a pile of Chocolate Frogs, Lily Evans was a vicious debater. In fact, she was so gifted in the way of snappy comebacks and ruthless remarks that often, when Potter would do something so incredibly infuriating that she simply _couldn't_ leave it be, much of the student body would congregate to watch this sweet little Lily turn sour, issuing brutal insults like it was what she was made to do, with Potter brushing it off as though it didn't bother him at all. Which it probably didn't, actually. Nothing seemed to faze him, the almighty, cocksure Potter.

Students placed bets on who would win.

Evans — 67, Potter — 65.

Now, for all that she was beautiful and good-natured and a ferocious wordsmith, one might have guessed Lily was also brilliant. One would be right. After all, she couldn't possible hope to succeed as an aspiring Healer if she wasn't, or if she wasn't hardworking, if she didn't stay up till the wee hours of the morning revising for exams _at least_ a month before they were scheduled. Charms and Potions might have come easily to her, but the rest were the result of hours and hours of grueling, laborious studying, hours spent spread out languorously on her bed or a common room sofa, or cramped up in a long deserted section of the library, surrounded by mounds of books.

She was among the top of her year, after all.

But before you walk away from this singing the praises of one Lily Evans, remember that she wasn't perfect. She was far from it.

Sometimes, she could be too harsh. Sod it all if the faces of all those students she'd completely verbally decimated in the face of looming deadlines didn't haunt the back of her eyelids at night. Or all the times she'd used some trivial excuse to unleash all her pent-up rage and frustration on Potter, regardless if the offense had actually been his wrongdoing. Or the times she'd gone too far in their little squabbles, got too personal, dug too deep. She could always see it in his face, hear it in his disappointed (never angry) "Whatever, Evans," feel it as her heart thudded to the beat of his footsteps as he walked away, and, despite the toerag that he was, she always felt like a rubbish person herself, afterwards.

She could be a real harpy, sometimes.

And Potter, Potter got the worst of it. It wasn't that he didn't deserve it; his unflappable, overbearing demeanor alone was evidence enough of _that_ , but any trace of warm, compassionate Lily vanished at the sight of him. Where she might have forgiven anyone else for one of their transgressions, Potter was held accountable for each and every one.

Something about him had drawn out the absolute worst in her from the day they'd met, and somehow she'd never been able to let go of that particular childish grudge. James Potter was, in her mind, _quite_ a despicable human being.

And, in spite of numerous cases made on his behalf, from Mary and Marlene and Dorcas and Alice and Frank and Remus and just about everyone, who, despite being some of Lily's best mates themselves, had been foolish enough to fall under his spell, Lily's assessment of the bloke was not subject to change.

He was reckless and attention-seeking and absolutely, positively unbearable, and no one seemed to mind but Lily. And Severus. But her relationship with Severus hadn't gone unscathed over the course of all their years at Hogwarts. (But that was for a different reason entirely.)

But Potter. _Ugh_ , Potter.

Now, never let it be assumed that James Potter, conceited and reckless as he may have been, was anything less than a genius. Because he probably could be described as one, and Lily knew this. And it was an absolutely horrible fact for her to face. The boy had a truly remarkable flair for Transfiguration, so bypassing the 'O' standard on that respective O.W.L. that the baffled examiners could only think to scribble in a '+' after it. Actually, as far as O.W.L.s go, Potter got ten. Lily Evans got nine. (The redhead was not impressed, but Divination had never been her strong suit.)

It was as though the sole point of his existence was to annoy Lily, and she had to say, he was fulfilling that purpose rather well.

(Later, she'd look back on this James Potter and shake her head at just how blind she had been.)

Another flaw of Lily's was that she could be far _too_ forgiving. Merlin only knows how many times over the years she'd tried to reach out to Petunia, only to receive contempt — or worse, cold indifference — in return. Or how many times she'd tolerated Petunia's biting words because she was her family, and that meant something to Lily.

Or Severus. Severus, her first real friend. Sev, the one who first introduced her to this world, _her_ world. Sev, who she cared for and looked after almost maternally. Sev, who let himself change too much.

Lily watched him change from the boy she had grown up with to this callous, prejudiced stranger. And too often, she let it slide, because surely, underneath all that, he was still Sev. Too often, she turned the other way, because maybe he just needed to work on his susceptibility to peer pressure. He was in Slytherin, after all. Too often, she defended him and made excuses for him and let it go when she should have held on tight, have confronted him with the same conviction she showed Potter, have called him out for it, and made sure he did better. But she didn't. And so it was her fault, really. Or at least, that's what the voice in the back of her head said.

 _Mudblood._ In the heat of the moment, he'd revealed how he truly felt about her. He'd shown his true alliance, and it was not to her. It hadn't been for a long time.

He tried to take it back, had apologized time and time again, had said he didn't mean it. But how can you not mean a thing like that? Lily finally listened to what her friends had always told her. She opened her eyes to what she had ignored for so long.

It was time.

"Goodbye, Severus," she told him, and meant it.

(That night, James Potter would find her, red faced and sobbing quietly, in a corner of the common room. He would apologize, and it would seem to Lily that he truly meant it.

"I'm sorry that it ended like this," he'd say. "It's all my fault."

"No," she'd sniffle. "It's mine."

And he would wrap her in a tight hug, one that was warm and safe and somehow _right_ , and Lily would sob harder and wonder to herself how the world had flipped so completely on its axis. And when she'd stop crying, he'd gently lead her to the stairs of the girls' dormitory, kiss her on the top of the head, and walk away.

" 'Night, Evans," he'd say, and the next day, he'd say, " 'Morning," and wrap her in that very same hug.)

Just like nearly every aspect of their lives, Severus's first six years at Hogwarts were very, _very_ different from Potter's and Lily's. Slytherin wasn't exactly known as the happy-go-lucky House, and likely, any Slytherin would have hexed you on the spot if you had described it in such a way.

For six years, he heard nothing but the whispers, whispers of the Dark Lord, who would set the world right. He saw nothing but darkness and shadows. He felt nothing but the pressure the fit in, the pressure to prove himself, the pressure to _belong._ He tasted nothing but stale, bitter air and blood that was not his. He smelled nothing but danger, only inches away.

Lily and Potter learned friendship, but Severus learned to rely on himself and no one else. Lily and Potter learned trust, but Severus learned to keep secrets, and hide them well. Lily and Potter tried to right the world, and Severus did too, but he went about it the wrong way, you see?

It all goes back to how they were raised, doesn't it? Lily and Potter were raised with love, and Severus with anything but, and they carried that with them their whole lives, and it was a part of who they _were_.

His mother _and_ his father. His stupid Muggle father. (The summer after Severus's first year, his father died, and Severus breathed a sigh of relief. No more fighting, he thought. No more bruises. I'm glad, he told himself. He deserved to die. Severus pushed all grief to the very back of his mind, reminding himself of what a horrible man his father truly was, and made up a reason to hate Muggles all the more. He watched his mother cremate his father and dump the ashes down the gutter and spit, "Good riddance," as the dust washed away. He pretended he didn't see the small bit still left in the bottle when she stoppered and pocketed it.)

They went to the same school, but they might as well have been on separate planets.

Life, Severus learned, was a complex potion. You had to stir it _just_ right, precisely. A pinch of this, a dash of that. Too little or too much of any one thing could have disastrous consequences.

In Severus's world, as crass and crude as it may have been, it was very much kill or be killed. And Severus was a survivor. There was no morality, only purity. There was no right and wrong, only weak and strong. There was no love or lucky exceptions, only coldness and deception.

If you learned to trick just the right people in just the right way, you might, _might_ live to tell the tale. Lucky for Severus, he was a fast learner. He spent years working his way up the ladder, slowly, carefully. He spent two years gradually twisting Avery and Mulciber until they were wrapped around his finger. They didn't suspect a thing.

He whiled away the next two teaching himself Occlumency. Believe it or not, that was almost easier. It required nothing more than carefully controlled composure and painstakingly detailed organization.

The compartmentalization came easily. The emotional detachment did too.

He was determined to make something of himself, to be on the right side, to be someone to be _proud_ of, for a change. How better than to work to uphold the integrity of the Wizarding world? The noble mindset of the aristocratic pure-bloods?

The only problem was Lily.

Merlin knows that when he first caught sight of her, he hadn't thought of her as a bloody problem. No, he'd been too _enamored_ (he gagged to think of that word now) by her. He'd been all emotion and no planning. How foolish he'd been.

But in Slytherin, he realized what it meant to cling to that particular memory of his childhood. His Housemates' nostrils flared at the sight of her, as though they were out for blood and wanted nothing more than to see hers spilt on the floor before them. Her own nose wrinkled at the word 'Mudblood' and to hear tale of her fellow Muggle-borns getting their so-called 'comeuppance,' and he knew she'd be giving him an earful about it later, her eyes emerald fire and her lips pursed disapprovingly.

He would recoil at the sight of it and hollowly promise to do better, and they both knew he wouldn't. That was the thing about Lily. She made him want to be a better person, and he _couldn't_ be, not for what he needed to be able to do. Not if he wanted to survive.

So he went on doing what was necessary and she doing what was right, and they somehow managed to make it work, this agreeing to disagree. And it _could have worked._

But _Potter_. Potter, this arrogant, selfish toerag. Potter, who couldn't leave well enough alone. Potter, who chased after Lily like she was some conquest when she was his, _his_! Lily was _his_! Couldn't Potter bloody see that? Hadn't he made it obvious?

Severus despised him with a passion. With an ever-burning, ever-seething, all-consuming _hate_ , Severus despised him. If Potter could just be gone, things would be close enough to perfect, and that's all Severus wanted. That's all he wanted.

Severus was also incredibly observant. How could he not be? It was what made him useful, noticing things no one else did. So when the Marauders got extra suspicious around the same time every month, he saw it.

And he followed them, and they hexed him, because, wretched as they were, they weren't daft, and Severus really needed to work on his spying abilities.

But one day, he caught Black (or Black caught him) at the wrong moment, and he learned everything. This was it. This was _it._

It would finally be over, all of it. The spells and the tormenting and the humiliation and the constant tug-of-war over Lily, it would be no more. And it was that thought that propelled him through the tunnel.

That thought that opened the door to the Shrieking Shack. That thought that went silent when he saw _it_ , hackles raised, teeth bared, and ready to pounce.

And then Potter. Bloody Potter intervened, just like he always had to, and he played the _hero._ The nerve of him!

His mate had just tried to kill Severus, and he was supposed to be quiet about it? Remus Lupin was a _monster_ , and he was allowed to keep walking these halls, keep endangering everyone here, and the only takeaway from all of this is that Potter's a hero?

He had to warn Lily.

He dropped as many hints as he can, and Lily scoffed and called it an insane theory and accused him of being _ungrateful_ , and couldn't she see he was trying to protect her?

No, she couldn't. Because of Potter.

It all came to a head one day, just like it always would have, and spells went flying and the usual bullying commenced, and Lily came flying to his rescue, just on time, and he'd had _enough_ , damnit!

The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he said and everything was over. He'd ruined it all, and it was all his fault, but it was Potter's more. And all at once, everything was _wrong._

The delicate balance, overturned. His second chance, a mere concept.

How could everything have gone so awry?

Even Severus didn't plan for this.

The bitterness, the disappointment, the betrayal, the guilt, the anger, it ate and ate and ate away at him until there was nothing left but an empty shell of who he used to be.

And suddenly everything made _sense_ , and it was so _easy_ to say yes because there was no Lily to hold him back.

So he only fell deeper down.

* * *

James Potter walked into his seventh year with something different about him. Students all around him turned and stared, and he ignored them and marched on.

Maybe it was the glasses, they whispered. Has he always had those?

Perhaps it was the walk, they theorized. It wasn't quite so bouncy this year.

Perchance it was the way his clothes fit, they muttered out of the corner of their mouths. He could certainly no longer be described as awkward or lanky. No, his shoulders were broader, his arms just a bit bulgier, and his hair, messy as always, somehow suited him. Somehow, it was incredibly attractive.

Likely it was the gleaming Head Boy badge that adorned his chest, they assumed. Holy hippogriff, just _what_ had Dumbledore been thinking?

But what everyone except for one student missed, what really set this year apart from all years past, was that he walked right by a stunned Lily Evans without so much as glancing in her direction, leaving her, for once, ogling after him.

Now, over the past year, to James's general astonishment and glee, they had become civil towards each other, if not mates. This meant that, when he told a cheesy joke, she laughed instead of rolling her eyes. When a trademark Marauder prank would catch the school by surprised delight (the students) and resigned amusement (the teachers), Lily cracked a smile instead of scowling and stalking away. This meant that their friend groups had finally, to the relief of all, merged into one, and this meant that late-night studying could be completed together, Lily covering Charms and Potions and James taking over for Transfiguration and Defense.

But if sixth year had reinforced anything, it was how bloody much James yearned for he and Lily to become _more._

He wanted nothing more than to sweep that loose tendril of vibrant red hair behind her ear. He wanted nothing more than to grasp her hand in his and spend hours doing nothing but rubbing circles on her knuckle. He wanted nothing more than to hold her close, to feel her warmth against his. He wanted nothing more than to take that bottom lip she chewed so much and tilt it up to meet his own.

But in that respect, nothing had changed. Except maybe now her rejections were exasperated instead of biting. Except maybe now when she caught him staring at her, her lips would twitch in a hidden smile. Except maybe now when he not-so-subtly bumped his arm up against hers, she didn't yank it away as though she'd been burned; she kept it there.

So maybe, just maybe, he thought, deep down, he wasn't alone in this. Maybe, _maybe_ , underneath all the thin and equally wonderful layers that were so entirely Lily, that he'd been gradually peeling away for seven years, she felt the same way. Maybe she just didn't know it yet.

But he needed a plan.

Obviously the forward approach hadn't worked. Three long years of asking her out and wincing immediately after hadn't yielded the desired results. Unwavering charm and attention hadn't done the trick. Maybe, the slightly insane voice in the far back of his head ventured, the solution was to do the opposite.

Maybe, instead of trying to catch the moth (James argued internally that Lily was more like a brilliant butterfly), he ought to turn on the light and let it come to him. Yes. No more falling over himself to woo her, he decided. It was far past time for her to woo him.

Then there was the question of if it would work. Would he be enough, just as he was?

Probably not, he admitted. He'd probably have to change a few things about himself. Why did she always complain him, again?

 _Arrogant, immature, bully, mussing his hair_ , the Lily in his head (Yes, he had a Lily in his head. She was rather an annoying conscience.) supplied readily.

Okay. He can work with that.

The arrogance was mainly an act he'd put on for her. Actually, he'd meant it to come off as _confidence_ , but it was possible he'd overshot it a bit.

The responsibility was going to be required of him anyway, he thought dully, glaring at his Head Boy badge. What had Dumbledore been smoking that day anyway? He ought to try some of that — _No_ , he chided himself. _Head Boys don't think like that._

He'd already cut down on the 'bullying' substantially, after seeing Lily's disappointed look. He just had to convince Sirius to back off a bit.

The hair thing was a problem. It was a nervous tic, okay? He'd been doing it forever. Maybe he could convince Sirius to hex him every time he tried. That should help him with the habit and Sirius with the 'he doesn't get to hex for the fun of it anymore' bit.

All right. This was coming along nicely.

"Prongs, you're insane," Remus informed him flatly in the safety of their compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Peter nodded emphatically in agreement. Sirius was giddy at the thought of hexing James.

"No, insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result," James corrected happily. "I'm doing something different. Ergo, different result."

"So you honestly and truly reckon that you can simply stop a few of your more irritating habits, and BAM! Lily Evans'll come flying into your arms?" Remus asked skeptically.

James mulled it over for a bit. "Yes?" he guessed.

Remus sighed. Peter shook his head in a _poor-idiotic-bloke_ kind of way.

"I think it'll work," said Sirius supportively, and James's heart swelled in overwhelming fondness for his best mate.

"Padfoot, you just want the chance to hex James," pointed out Peter.

"No, I really think it could work," argued Sirius, stuffing a Chocolate Frog in his mouth. "An' iff i' duzzn', idd'll ve hulareith all de thame."

"Pardon?" said Remus weakly.

Sirius gulped. "And if it doesn't, it'll be hilarious all the same."

"It'll work!" protested James.

"Sure," said Remus. He stood. "C'mon. Prefect meeting."

And, walking into the Prefect's compartment and feeling Lily's eyes land on him for the second time that day, James truly felt sure it would work.

This. Wasn't. Working.

Four months into seventh year, and James had had it. The plan was barmy, and he was just as single as ever. He was ready to concede defeat and, ugh, tell a rather smug Remus he had been right.

Lily had taken all of a week to adjust to the new and improved him, and all she had done was snort under her breath, "About bloody time," and get to work, as always.

Even with all the increased time they spent together as Heads, it truly and honestly seemed that nothing had changed.

 _Nothing._

At least, that's what James thought until the moment a hand came out of nowhere, grabbed his, yanked him into an empty classroom, and suddenly, there was Lily Evans, snogging the living daylights out of him.

Lily Evans was not a person easily surprised. In fact, her mum had tried to throw her a surprise birthday party once, and Lily'd deduced it in five seconds flat just by the way her mum said her name.

So please understand how incredibly and unbelievably _stunned_ she was when she saw James Potter, of all people, wearing a Head Boy badge. She had fully expected it to be Remus. Honestly, she would have expected Petunia to walk into the Prefect's compartment wearing a Head Boy badge before she had expected James to.

And worse than that, he was _acting_ like one.

Now, it had taken the better part of six years, but Lily thought she knew every version of James Potter there was.

He could be an arse, an intellectual, a miscreant, a friend, an enemy, etc. But she had never anticipated the day when he could be so . . . _agreeable._

It had been a week, and he hadn't been late to a single meeting, picked a fight with her once, _or_ asked her out once (as he normally would have at least three times). She hadn't even caught him — _nor Sirius! —_ hanging a first year upside down by their ankles.

The Marauders were still up to enviable mischief, but significantly less than was normal.

It was like it wasn't James at all. And Lily was stuck between being thrown by version 2.0 and missing the original.

Once, a week into the school year, she _almost_ caught a glimpse of the old him. She may or may not have deliberately said something snippy in the vague hope he'd retaliate, and he'd, almost instinctively, snapped back at her, and she'd snorted gladly in response, muttered, "About bloody time," and by the time she could convince herself he was back to normal, all trace of playful banter was gone, and new, dull James was here to stay.

It was almost Christmas, and Lily had had it. She missed the old James.

The James that would flirt shamelessly and laugh too loudly. That would argue passionately and smirk all the while. That would stroll into class ten minutes late with a wink and a "Sorry, Professor," and somehow get away with it. That would run his hand through his hair every time he saw her.

She missed the James that held her in a tight embrace everyday for a week after the Severus incident.

And she realized, with a jolt, that she had even fancied the old him. All the old quirks that had driven her crazy were just so _James_ that she appreciated them despite her complaints. And they _had_ had that _spark_ he used to go on and on about; she'd just never realized it.

And now she couldn't even remember why she had started calling him James instead of Potter.

One day, Remus and Lily and James were in the library, studying quietly (James never used to study quietly), and James had his nose in a book, murmuring to himself, and he didn't have a hint of a grin on his face, and Lily said sadly, "He's really changed, hasn't he?"

"He has," agreed Remus, looking just as forlorn.

"I wish he hadn't," she said wistfully.

Remus blinked. Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and blinked again.

"What?"

"I mean," Lily backtracked, having expected Remus to agree with her, "it's great that he's more responsible now, and I don't regret _that_ , but he's not really James if he's not ruffling his hair or arguing with everyone, or, Merlin forbid, asking me out."

Remus stared at her. And then he blinked.

"Would you just say whatever it is you're going to say?" said Lily, who'd really had quite enough of the blinking at this point.

Remus shook his head. "Prongs, you absolute dolt."

"What?"

"Lily, he," Madame Pince, the new and rather irritable librarian glared at them and Remus lowered his voice, "he changed for you."

"What?!" repeated Lily, bewildered.

"Sh!" Now she was glowering at them.

"He — he thought it would impress you if he stopped doing all the things that seemed to bother you so much," explained Remus.

"Well, it didn't," retorted Lily.

"Obviously. So what are you going to do?"

" _Me_?" squeaked Lily.

"He changed for you, so technically, you got us into this mess, so _yes_ , you!"

Lily heaved a great sigh. "Fine. Stand up, pack up your things, and walk out with me."

Remus hurried to do what she said. When they made it out of the library, she told him, "Wait five minutes, then go back in there and tell him there's been an emergency, and he needs to meet me in the abandoned classroom on the second floor."

"Good luck!" Remus called after her.

And, waiting in that dark, musty classroom, it occurred to Lily just how hopelessly romantic this doomed plan had been. And so when James came hurrying down the corridor, she didn't think; she had to know.

And now she had him pinned against the wall, and they were _kissing_ , and it was warm and passionate and bloody amazing, and how had she managed seven years without this? He had only been still a moment before reciprocating with even more enthusiasm than Lily.

And then, gathering all the rapidly diminishing self-control she had, she pulled away, and he was looking at her in shocked confusion.

She slapped him.

"You daft twat!"

James shrugged.

"I've been called worse."

He leaned in again, but Lily, more furious than anything else, held up a hand and backed away.

"I can't _believe_ you! You thought that you could change everything about yourself, and I'd — I'd what? Fall in love with you?"

He blinked.

"Well," he began tentatively. "Isn't that what happened?"

"No!" She gave him a good hard shove (he didn't budge more than an inch). "I liked you before, you prat!"

"Oh."

"Oh? _Oh_?" Lily's eyes flashed. "That's all you have to say for yourself?"

James smirked. "Should I mention how good you look when you're fuming in a dark room?"

Her nostrils flared. Her eyes bulged.

And then she had him back up against the wall and they were snogging again.

"I've — missed — you," she said in between kisses.

He laughed against her lips.

"Well, Evans," he replied, running a hand through his hair, "here I am."

If Severus was a greasy-haired git _before_ seventh year, that last year at Hogwarts, he was a greasy-haired git with a vengeance.

It was the last year. Everything he had worked for, every price he had paid, everything had come to this.

He'd weasled his way into a position of power, just enough to get on the Dark Lord's radar. He'd had Lucius Malfoy set a meeting for the Hogsmeade weekend right before Christmas holidays.

Everything was in place. The wheels were in motion, and in just a few days, his years-long plan will have come into fruition.

But something wasn't quite right. Much as he'd tried to smother it, some voice deep in the recesses of his mind screamed, "No! Don't! You can be better than this!" and it sounded suspiciously like Lily.

But she had no room to talk. She'd refused to do much as look at him since _it_ happened. Refused to forgive him. Refused to listen.

It was her fault he was like this. Maybe she could have stopped him.

(Even though he knew she probably couldn't've.)

But even still, Malfoy had given him a way out. Malfoy had warned him, had said, "Don't bother coming if you're not sure."

And he hadn't been.

Something wasn't quite right. Even Potter stopped attacking him lately. It was as though everyone was in on a joke he knew nothing about, and he didn't like not knowing.

It's funny how, when things change, when the world completely flips upside on its axis, it still doesn't slow down. It doesn't stop. Life keeps going, just as it did, with one small difference. But, knowing that, it still floored Severus when Lily walked into the Great Hall holding Potter's hand.

She had told him — had _promised_ him! — that she didn't like Potter. He thought she hated him! How, _how_ could Potter get everything?

And suddenly they were everywhere. Giggling in the library, whispering in each other's ears in the Great Hall, sitting far too close at Prefect meetings.

And seeing _Potter_ , the one who'd had everything Severus had ever wanted, get Lily, that, more than anything, pushed him over the edge.

"Are you sure?" asked the Dark Lord.

"Yes," said Severus, smoothly and confidently.

This was everything he'd worked for.

The rest of the year passed in a blur of secrets and lies and Lily and Potter.

He found himself wishing he had never gathered up the courage (how he hated that word) to talk to Lily at all. Wishing that she wasn't at the park that day. Wishing she wasn't magical.

It would have been a life where he had had no light in the darkness, had never had, and probably never would, but surely it would have been easier than this.

If he tried hard enough, he could almost, _almost_ convince himself that he despised her. That he detested her, as was right. She was a filthy Mudblood, and it was good that she was out of his life because he had never wanted her there to start with.

And then he'd see her again, and his heart would thump traitorously. He'd see her waves of red hair, and his eyes would dilate at the sight. He'd hear her melodic laugh, and his ears would strain to hear the sound, and they would ache when it was no more. He'd lie in bed at night imagining the feel of her hands in his, the way they had been so long ago. He'd be haunted by the thought of her lips would taste like against his own. He'd catch a whiff of what could vaguely pass as her own flowery scent, and it'd all come flooding back. Every bit of it.

And then he'd see Potter right beside her, and those bitter memories would wash over him too. All the rage, the hurt, the jealousy. He'd see Potter and try to burn that image into his mind. Remember that. Remember the pain. It would make him successful.

And then he'd see Lily again, and it was a vicious cycle, really, but one he could never escape from. She was the one who tormented him, now, and she always would.

What do you call someone that's your poison and your cure, all at once? Because you don't die, no, it'd be too much of a relief to die, but you live in constant agony, if you can even call that living.

She was wrong, and she was mud, and she was everything he was against, and she was tied to the tracks, and there was a train coming, and he was conducting it, and he couldn't protect her, but he'd love her anyway.

He'd love her forever, and she'd never be his, but he'd still love her. He'd love her forever, and she'd always be filthy, beneath him, but he'd love her anyway. He'd love her forever, and they'd take different paths, and they'd be on opposite sides of a terrible war, and he'd win, and she'd die, but he'd still love her. He'd love her to the day she died and far beyond that. He'd love her to the day he died and far beyond _that._

And there was no denying it.

Lily was his world, his universe, his everything. She was all the chance there was of him being a good person. She was his heart and his soul and everything in between. And who was he without that?

This. He was this. He was everything Potter had ever accused him of being, and he was proud. And he was right. Wasn't he?

* * *

James was restless, and he was sick of being trapped here for Merlin knows how long, and he swore on Godric Gryffindor's hat _and_ sword that if Voldemort didn't work up the balls to kill him already, he'd do the job for him.

Lily was getting fidgety too, he could tell. Recently, she'd become a rather horrifying mixture of James's mother and James himself, and it was unnerving _him_ , to say the least.

She'd swept, polished, and scrubbed till her hands were raw, and the house practically glowed, even though it would have all been easier to just use magic. And, for some reason, she'd taken to surprise attacking him with a spray bottle and a comb, even though she knew that it was a losing battle.

On the other hand, and not much better, she would whip out her wand and be up and in fighter stance at the slightest noise, which often meant James had to spend a solid two minutes answering security questions and just generally talking her down every time he entered or left a room. Merlin knows how many times she'd broken that vase on the wobbly shelf in the corner or how many times she'd terrorized the cat into hiding for a day.

Even Harry was distraught. It took both of them to calm him down for a nap, and oftentimes more than that. He'd call out for 'Moo'ey' and 'Pafoo' ' and 'Worry' at random intervals throughout the day, though admittedly he didn't call for Worry very much.

Harry could probably sense the jumpiness. Wormtail always was a little skittish around him. He'd been even more so since Sirius had presented the idea of switching Secret Keepers.

But this evening alone, Harry had almost cried himself sick for absolutely no reason at all except that he was as miserable as the rest of them. And James had, to his credit, done everything he could. He brought out that wretched toy broom, which of course sent the cat streaking away (what was it about Potter boys and cats, anyway?), and when Harry'd calmed down a bit, he'd segued into entertaining him with silly wand tricks. Harry was laughing, and Lily was the calmest she'd looked in weeks, and James just couldn't keep that smile off his face — you know _that_ smile?

And then there was a creak, ever so subtle, but unsettling all the same, and something told James that this was it. Somehow, this was the end.

The door burst open, letting in the howling wind. Voldemort really did like the dramatic entrance, apparently.

"Lily," James shouted frantically, panicking, "take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! It's him! I'll hold him off!"

And without a doubt, without a moment's hesitation, without thinking what would most definitely happen if he charged after Voldemort _alone_ , he rushed into the hall, and all that was running through his mind was Harry and Lily and Sirius and Remus and Peter and Harry and Lily and Sirius and Remus and Peter and to the very end, that's all he thought about.

He forgot his wand.

He fell, dead before he hit the ground, but until the very end, he thought of nothing but Harry. And Lily. And Sirius. And Remus. And Peter. And he always would have.

"Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy . . . Not Harry! _Not Harry!_ Please — I'll do anything!"

Lily never imagined herself to be reduced to the sad, pathetic, begging type. She really wasn't. But everything changes when you hear your husband's body hit the floor, doesn't it?

Voldemort gave her the chance to step aside. She didn't take it. Now _that_ was pure Lily. She'd do anything to protect the people she loved. She did.

When the inevitable green light shot out of his wand, Lily's eyes burned brighter than that light ever could be, with tears, with love, with _fire_.

People try to paint Lily Evans in many different lights. As a perfect housewife (she wasn't; usually it involved a rigorous competition between Lily and James to decide who cooked that night, and usually she won). As a saint, a martyr (she wasn't; she didn't die to defeat Voldemort or for the resistance or for Muggle-borns everywhere. She died for _James_ , and she died for _Harry_ ). As a flawless mother, (she wasn't always; sometimes she lost patience, lost her will to get up at three a.m. and sing breathy lullabies, and she just let him cry a few moments longer). As weak (she wasn't; she could duel with the best of the Order and Heal even better than). As nothing more than a sweet little girl (she wasn't; she'd definitely told off someone a time or two, usually James).

But no matter how you choose to remember her, remember this. Remember this moment when she could have saved herself, when she could have collapsed inconsolably at Voldemort's feet and processed everything she'd lost. This moment when she chose her son. This moment when she defied Voldemort a fourth time, and never wavered in doing it. Remember that.

Remember Lily Evans before you remember Lily Potter. Remember the girl who was driven, who was kind, who was beautiful, who was fierce. Remember her. Not many do.

Lily was _not_ just James Potter's wife, and she was certainly not just Harry Potter's mother. She was not a role model for Muggle-borns everywhere, and she was no one's inspiration. Lily had a story all her own, and it was magnificent and heartbreaking and _real_ , and nobody has stopped to truly appreciate it.

Lily Potter was a scared straight twenty-one year old girl who fought a war too hard and too soon and she lost everything to it. Lily Potter never lived in a world where she was not different. Lily Potter never lived a world that truly accepted her, and yet she fought to protect it. Lily Potter was _not_ useless. She was _not_ only a sacrifice. She was _not_ a plot device. She was _not_ unimportant.

People will put Ron and Hermione and Harry on a pedestal and call them war heroes, will call them kids who fought a war too big for them, will call them determined and strong. And they will acknowledge James and Lily too, but not for the same reason. Not for any reason that even begins to equal what they deserve. Lily and James Potter are the ones that _died._ Harry is the Boy Who Lived. But are their stories not one and the same?

The world doesn't need another romance story. It doesn't need another dashing young gentleman and a lovely, one dimensional girl. It needs Lily Evans, headstrong and driven and kind and everything in between. It needs first a story about a girl who was not perfect, wasn't even close, but who made up for it by being herself, and who needs perfect anyway?

Severus Snape would not die for many years to come. But he would never live.

He was a bitter, vicious, bullying git of a teacher, and that's the harsh truth. He used his sorry excuse of a life to torment the lives of everyone around him, and there's no denying that.

But let's give him a chance. Let's look at this broken shell of a coward, and try to see what old, senile Albus Dumbledore saw.

Let's see a man haunted by ghosts and his own mistakes. Let's see a man who never left his past behind. Let's see a man who never recovered, who wallowed in his pity and self-loathing for the rest of his existence. Let's see a man who got so good at hiding his emotions that people couldn't tell how torn up he truly was inside. Let's see a man that made himself better in the ways that really mattered.

And then Harry Potter came to Hogwarts.

And as he looked into the eyes of Lily Evans, the eyes he had not seen in so long, the eyes that loved him, stood up for him, been disappointed in him, and hated him, something inside him snapped.

"Ah," he began, his voice drawling in as hateful a manner as ever (though only Lily could have heard the waver in it), "it is our newest celebrity."

Years later, Severus's life would flicker out as he stared with painful need into those very same eyes, the eyes of the boy who'd always hated him, who'd been far too like his father for Severus not to hate him right back, or perhaps first, but the eyes, the eyes were Lily's, nonetheless.

So Severus Snape breathed his last, and, not naturally, not comfortably, not painlessly, slipped away from this world and into the next. Where Lily was waiting for him with open arms, and James too, though his arms were wrapped around Lily. For in death, everyone is equal.


End file.
